Escalation

by Tessa Teevan

  Where is she? Why was the tunnel open? What the fucking hell is going on? I can’t voice them though. Anything I give away could put her further in danger.

  “You could say that. What, exactly, are you doing with the girl?” he asks.

  My throat runs dry. I haven’t exactly been discreet. Then again, how I do my job has never been an issue before.

  I shrug. “You know the motto. ‘Fuck ’em or turn ’em.’ I just happened to use the former to employ the latter. In this case, however, she doesn’t know shit about him. As for the other stuff…I’m working on it, and I think we had a break tonight. I’m close,” I tell him, hoping like hell he believes me. I’m not actually lying. The interest Morningstar has in the painting confirmed my suspicions, and a trip to Chicago with Brie is in order.

  “I don’t give a shit what you do, Matthews. Figure it out. Find what we’re looking for. As for the girl… Well, see for yourself,” he says. Then he turns the screen, watching me intently.

  I put a mask of indifference on my face as I look at a surveillance video showing Brie and Adrian in the dining room—the time stamp from less than an hour ago. He presses play, and anger and worry well up inside me when the video starts. As they disappear into the tunnel, I’m barely able to contain my composure. I ball my hands into tight fights and bite the inside of my lip, trying to squelch the urge to punch the desk in a furious rage. He took her. Adrian took Brie, and I have no clue how long he’s had her. Or what he intends to do with her. The very thought it almost more than I can manage, but I force myself to remain calm. Still, my sanity is hanging on by a very tight string that threatens to snap if I can’t keep it together.

  My jaw clenches, and I set my chin. “Audio?” I ask, hoping for some clue as to what he plans to do to her.

  “Nothing worth listening to,” he answers cryptically. He’s lying, and I make a mental note to get a copy of that recording later. If I can.

  “How did this happen? You were supposed to be watching him. Why wasn’t I informed he was back in town? And what the fuck does he want with her? What does he have to gain by taking her? ” My voice is tight and laced with anger, and I wince when he raises his eyebrows. I know I need to calm down and not give myself away. “We had a breakthrough tonight and I’m not done with her yet. She holds the key to what we’re looking for. She just doesn’t know it,” I explain, hoping to appease him.

  “No. It’s too late for her,” he announces. His eyes narrow, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “He knows why you’re here, and he thinks he’s trying to protect her. Find them and take care of it.”

  He knows? What the hell does that mean? Shit.

  “Matthews?” he asks, breaking my train of thought. “Do you understand?”

  I swallow and nod, knowing exactly what he means. “I’ll do what needs to be done,” I respond, not actually agreeing with what he’s implying. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  After I whip my phone out of my pocket, I pull up the app that tracks her cell phone. Even though I know she must be with him, relief floods my system when I see they’re only a few miles ahead. It shouldn’t take me long to catch up with them. The urge to tell my boss to fuck off and race after them is strong, and I don’t know how much longer I can put it off.

  Still, I keep my cool, my expression—hopefully—unreadable. “I’ve already got a lock on their location, but the longer we sit here with this fucking tea party, the further away he gets. Are we done here?” I ask, feigning annoyance.

  He nods and pushes back from the desk, standing. His imposing stature would make a grown man cower, but he doesn’t have that effect on me. At least, he didn’t before. Now that he knows about Brie, I have no idea what the plan is or what the hell he could be hiding from the surveillance video.

  “We’re done. Look, I know you’re pissed I’m here. I don’t like showing up out of the blue, but he went off the grid earlier, and when he resurfaced at Philadelphia International, I got here as soon as I could to figure out what the hell he was up to. Now that he’s taken her, however, I’m handing this mess over to you. Find them and figure out how much he knows. We’ll reassess the situation after that.”

  None of this makes any sense. How the hell did Adrian find out what I was doing here? And what was he telling Brie? Suddenly, finding her became even more necessary.

  “Got it, Boss. You sticking around for this?”

  “No, I trust you have a handle on it. My attention is needed elsewhere.” His eyes flick to my cell, and I’m relieved I have the correct one. “Just try to keep in contact at all times.”

  The doorbell rings and he glances in the direction of the hall.

  “This is where we part ways, Matthews. I’ve got a flight to catch. Be careful, and don’t let me down. I don’t want to have to come back to Philadelphia to clean up your messes.” With a dismissive wave, he picks his briefcase up and strolls out of the room.

  My chest deflates as I let out a deep breath. I stare at the computer for a moment, my curiosity wondering what he’s hiding. The computer will hopefully still be here upon my return. Right now, Brie needs me.

  With one last painstaking look, I exit the way I came in. As I retrace my steps down the tunnel, I try calling her phone, pleading for her to pick up. It’s a lost cause, but I can’t help it. Over and over again, I get her voicemail, but I keep ringing back as if, one of these times, she’ll pick up.

  Then, like a fucking lifeline, my phone vibrates and I breathe out a sigh of relief at her incoming text message. It’s short-lived, however, as she details what she can, telling me most of what I’d already seen on the video.

  But there’s one part she tells me that I didn’t know. She was drugged—not by Adrian.

  That little tidbit nearly sends me over the edge. I force myself to take a deep breath as I hop in my car, typing out a promise that I’m coming for her. I hope it’s one I can actually keep.

  This is a motherfucking mess, and for the first time, I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of it. At least, not with us together. But first things first: I have to get her back.

  That’s when I get closer to the shrill of the sirens.

  The dot on the screen stops moving.

  And when I pull up to the scene, so does my heart.

  “ISN’T IT BEAUTIFUL, SWEETHEART?” My mother’s soprano lilt echoes through the dense fog in my mind.

  The sound lifts my heart, filling it fully. It’s been so long since I’ve heard her melodic voice. I struggle to open my eyes, wanting to see her after so much time apart but terrified of what awaits me. What the implications of her presence are.

  “Gabriella?”

  My name on her lips is the most beautiful melody in my previously ringing ears, and it’s the encouragement I need to finally open my eyes. When I do, my breath catches. I’m in the nursery of my childhood home. Confusion settles in, coupled with delight, as I slowly turn and see her—my beautiful, exquisite mother—sitting in the rocking chair next to what was once my bassinet.

  “M-mom?” I gasp, reaching my hand out then pulling it back. It’s conflicting, the desire to touch her, to make sure she’s really here, but not wanting to know if I’ve truly met my end. If she’s here to lead me to the other side. I’m not sure I’m ready.

  Her eyes are wide and fascinated, fixated on the wall directly in front of her. She tilts her head to the side, studying whatever she’s looking at. I wish she were looking at me. What has her so engrossed when I—her daughter—am right here? Cautiously, I follow her gaze. I can’t help the small gasp that leaves my mouth as my eyes fall on the Monet hanging above my crib.

  Fast moving flickers of scenes from my life, all centered on this painting, flash through my mind. Mom’s poetic words of wisdom. All the hours spent studying it—both with her and on my own. The paper I wrote on Monet’s techniques and the emotions his work emitted. And then the image of my childhood bedroom after my parents’ murders. The room had been ransacked, alm
ost as if the robber had been looking for something in particular—or, as the police suggested, for anything worth stealing. I’d thought the thief must’ve known that it was a replica or had no knowledge of the value of art. It was the only thing in my room that had remained intact.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to remember that day.

  More memories trickle in. My trips to the museum with Adrian and Rafe—both of whom had shown interest in very different ways. And both asking if I’d known where it was. Finally, I see the file marked with my name that contained a photocopy of the painting. What does it mean? Why that particular painting?

  I’ve studied it so many times that, if I’d been gifted with artistic talent, I could replicate it myself. Opening my eyes, I examine the one before me. Only this time, there’s a slight shift in its appearance, and it doesn’t quite look the same as the original. Something about this particular replica is not quite right. I step forward, straining my eyes, and see something out of place in the corner, but the closer I get, the hazier the painting becomes no matter how much I try to focus.

  As I glance around the room, I realize why. The world around us is tinted blue, and finally, the reality of this sinks in.

  Adrian succeeded.

  We’re gone.

  Tears fill my eyes as the confliction settles over my heart. A few years ago, I would’ve welcomed this. After I’d lived in my own personal hell, reuniting with my parents was all I could’ve asked for. Now, however? I’m not ready. There’s so much to live for, and if given the chance, I’ll never wish for death again.

  Somehow, I find my voice, which sounds raw and shaky from my screams. “Where’s Daddy?”

  Her eyes finally leave the painting, and my breath catches when she looks at me. Tears swirl in her golden eyes, and her pale skin is glowing. She looks every bit as beautiful as I remember, but what’s unsettling is her expression. It’s wistful—reluctant, almost. And the way she’s sitting still in the rocking chair startles me. I want her to jump up, to wrap me in her warm embrace, but even as the thought enters my mind, I shiver, for the first time feeling the chill in the air.

  “This is your dream, sweetheart,” she says, tilting her head to gaze at me.

  My dream? My heart pounds, and I suck in my bottom lip, shaking my head. “This can’t be a dream. It’s so real. And Adrian… He… It’s over.” A sob racks through me, so I’m barely able to say the words out loud.

  Could she be that cruel? To give me hope when I know that this—whatever this is—is some kind of in-between. Why won’t she just take me to the other side?

  She smiles regretfully as she looks down at the bassinet then back up at me. “You were the most beautiful baby girl,” she whispers, not responding to my claims.

  I just want to know the harsh reality. That it’s over. Yet I don’t want to hear it.

  “I always wondered what your children would look like,” she says.

  As the tears start to trickle down my cheek, I briefly close my eyes, taking in a deep breath. After my parents died, I didn’t want children. What if something happened to me? Could I bring a child into the world knowing that I had no one and, in turn, so would my child? I wasn’t sure I could be enough. But now, things have drastically changed.

  “Mom, please, tell me what’s happening here. I don’t understand.”

  “We miss you, our sweet Brie, but we’re not ready for you two yet,” she informs me as she stands.

  Oh God. How does she know? I’m not even positive, but the knowing smile on her face is all the confirmation I need.

  As she closes the distance between us, I have the urge to touch her. To have tangible proof she’s here and it’s not just my overactive imagination. My hand reaches her shoulder, and it passes through as if she’s nothing but thin air.

  “What is this? Why can’t I touch you?”

  She brushes my cheek with the back of her hand. Cool air kisses my skin, causing me to shiver. A lone tear trickles down her cheek, and it evaporates as it runs from her skin.

  “It’s too late for your father and me, but you have your whole life ahead of you. All you have to do is fight. Fight for your survival. Fight for your truth. Fight for those you love, Gabriella. All you have to do is fight,” she echoes.

  I look around the room, unable to shake the confusion. “How? How am I supposed to fight when I don’t even know what I’m up against?”

  She shakes her head, and I know she can’t help me. Her hand rests under my chin. For a split second, I feel the sensation of her touch.

  “Brie…it’s time for you to go. All you have to do is breathe,” she urges. Then her expression shifts. Her eyes bore into mine, narrowed and foreboding. “But be careful. The truths you think you know...aren’t truths at all. That doesn’t mean you’ve been deceived. Listen with caution and an open heart, and you will succeed.”

  Her cryptic words confuse me even more.

  “Where do I start? How do I even know who to trust?” I plead.

  “Find the bridge. The answer you seek will be there. I’m sorry we couldn’t protect you better, sweetheart. But trust that the man in your life can do what we failed to do.”

  Does she mean Adrian or Rafe? It shouldn’t even be a question. I should know who she means. But the reminder of Adrian’s panic and the promise of protection as well as his warnings that a certain he isn’t who he said he was have my mind reeling.

  “Who? And where do I find the painting? Everything’s gone,” I whisper, my eyes wide. Even if this is just a dream, I want—I need—answers. “Mom, I don’t understand any of this.”

  Her image flickers, and she shakes her head. “I don’t have those answers, sweetheart. I’ve told you all I could.”

  I start to protest, but as her presence begins to fade, her whisper remains.

  “Remember, Brie: Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. I will always be with you. As will the truth.”

  Then it’s as if all the air has been sucked from the room, and even though I’m gasping for breath, the struggle becomes too much. My lungs burn as I fall to the ground, curling into the fetal position and hoping the end comes quickly, without any mirages this time. I squeeze my eyes shut and slowly drift away, my mother’s soft whispers echoing in my mind.

  As soon as the vision ends, my eyes flutter open. Gone is the sublime setting in my childhood home. Everything has faded, and even though it felt so real, I struggle with the truth that it was all a dream. After blinking a few times, trying to focus, I see nothing. I’m staring straight up at a bright, white light. Is this finally it? But as I will my body to move, to go towards the white light, I cannot.

  “Ms. Latham?” The rich, baritone voice is loud and questioning, completely unfamiliar to me. It’s also muffled slightly, as if my ears are waterlogged.

  The accident.

  My head twists to the side. A young man in a suit is sitting next to me, his eyes a mysterious mixture of both relief and concern. My own widen as the truth washes over me. Mom was right! It really wasn’t my time.

  I look around, take the room in. It’s cold with white washed walls, steel machines, and the distorted sounds of beeping coming from beside the hospital bed I’m lying in. I glance down to see that a gown is covering me completely. Hot tears prick my eyes, and I lift my hands, looking at them in wonder before bringing them to my chest. They rise and fall with each breath I take.

  I’m breathing. I inhale as deeply as I can before dropping my mouth open and slowly letting the breath escape. I really am breathing. My lungs burn, yet I barely notice.

  “Where am I?” I pause to clear my scratchy throat.

  He gazes at me, his dark eyes softening with sympathy, but he doesn’t answer my question.

  “Who are you? What about…” I trail off before allowing myself to say his name.

  The man stands and pushes his chair closer. Then he sits and studies me for a moment. “Ms. Latham, I’m Agent Howard. You were in an accident
last night. Do you remember?” he asks. His voice is gentle, almost soothing, yet it’s still commanding. He offers me a warm smile, but it doesn’t quite reach the eyes that are watching me intently with what seems to be concern.

  I nod. “I…I was drowning,” I whisper, my eyes widening. “I thought I was a goner.”

  He gives me a tight smile and leans over to press the nurse call button. “Correction: You almost drowned, Ms. Latham. When you were pulled from the wreckage, you were unconscious and not breathing. It was touch and go for a while, but the doctors stabilized you and you finally started breathing on your own. You’re a fighter. You should be damn proud.”

  My cheeks flush. I’m about to respond, but a flurry of activity fills the room. As two nurses busily check my vitals, speaking rapidly and using terminology I don’t understand, he stands and steps away. At the moment, I couldn’t care less, because I’m alive and that’s what matters.

  “How are you feeling, sweetie? You gave us quite a scare.” One of the nurses smiles down at me and smooths out my hair. It’s supposed to be comforting, but all it does is remind me of Rafe.

  Rafe.

  Oh, God, does he know where I am? Does he know what happened to me? He was right. I should’ve listened to him. I never should’ve left his apartment.

  As my heart races, the machine I’m hooked to starts beeping rapidly. I twist my head to look at it, fist my hands, and try to sit up, and the smiling nurse places a hand on my shoulder. She looks freakishly like the Joker, her smile forced, phony smile.

  “Calm down, Ms. Latham. Everything’s going to be okay,” she reassures me as she hands me the control for the bed.

  How can she say that? Everything is not okay. Everything is completely messed up, and I have no idea what’s going on. Still, I raise the bed until I’m in sitting position, feeling more in control than when I was lying flat. The white fluorescent lights disappear from view, giving me instant relief.